One and One Is Eleven
by RZZMG
Summary: On a bet, Draco Malfoy jacks a car, but can't drive it. Hermione Granger, a witch who knows nothing of her heritage, offers to help him. Love & adventure await them both. Hot shag/romance. Based on "Pretty Woman" movie. 2011 Dramione Couples Remix entry.
1. Chapter 1: Black Magic Woman

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This was my pinch-hit submission for the 2011 DRAMIONE COUPLES REMIX FEST.**

_Original Couple/Prompt: Edward & Vivienne (Pretty Woman)_

**Thank you to my spectacularly wonderful beta, Unseenlibrarian - you are the editorial Goddess! Thank you to the Mods of the Fest for giving me the chance to pinch-hit this one, as it was a delight to write! **

**Please review!**

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**DISCLAIMER: **"Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. "Pretty Woman" is the property of J.F. Lawton and Touchstone Pictures. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**TIMELINE:** 2002

**MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini

**STORY DETAILS: **This is totally A/U, taking place Post-Hogwarts for Draco Malfoy & gang. In this world, Hermione Granger remained a Muggle-born without knowledge of Hogwarts (she was born in Australia and lived there most of her life). She is not friends with Harry or Ron, and does not know who Draco Malfoy is. Also, there is no Voldemort in this world – never was. No Death Eaters. No war. Blood prejudice still exists. This story borrows some plot elements and some lines from the "Pretty Woman" movie to fit the scenes below, but it isn't a rewrite of the movie – it's an original twist on the theme.

**SUMMARY: **On a bet, Draco Malfoy jacks a Muggle car, but doesn't know how to drive it. As he stalls out at an intersection in a seedier part of Muggle London, there's a knock on his window. He looks up to see a beautiful woman offering to help him, so he makes a deal with her to drive him to the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron to meet up with his friends, Theo and Blaise, so he can collect his winnings from the gamble. But a Muggle shouldn't be able to see the entrance to The Cauldron, right? It's then that Draco realizes that he's got a Muggle-born witch on his hands - one he's _incredibly_ attracted to. He takes her inside, to begin her education of the magical world…

**RATING:** M+ (NC-17: Explicit heterosexual sex – including snogging, petting, oral and vaginal sex; alcohol consumption; gambling; grand theft auto; bribery; profanity; references to stripping for a living; marriage; pregnancy)

****IMAGES for this fanfic **(including what characters look like, their outfits, and the banners for this story), can be found by going here (remove all spaces from the URL to make it load properly ): _**http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / One%20and%20One%20Is%20Eleven**_

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_**ONE AND ONE IS ELEVEN**_

**BY RZZMG**

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**CHAPTER ONE: BLACK MAGIC WOMAN**

Draco Malfoy officially hated his life.

Stopped in the middle of some godforsaken area of Soho, down a side street, he banged his arms on the round wheel that helped turn the automobile that he'd jacked not five-hundred feet back from his current location. He shouted a nasty profanity that his mother would have chastised him for speaking because now he couldn't get the stupid thing started again. It had 'stalled out,' if he recalled the correct terminology for the car's engine turning off.

Just fucking perfect! Now how in the bloody hell was he supposed to get this dodgy bucket of bolts to the front of The Leaky Cauldron before midnight, per the bet he'd made with Theo and Blaise?

Okay, in retrospect, it had been a stupid wager to have made, but he'd been a little drunk and fucking with Muggles had sounded like fun at the time he'd made it. He was feeling quite the fool now. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford to pay the wankers their fifty galleons apiece if he lost, and it didn't matter that these boyhood pranks were getting old. It was the principle of the thing that galled him: a Malfoy _never_ lost a bet.

Frustrated and working up a sweat in anger, he kicked his heel against the metal pedals at his feet, trying to remember his third year Muggle Studies lecture on automobiles. So far, he'd figured out that to move the bloody vehicle forward, he had to press down on two pedals together and the little stick thingy in the middle of the dash had to be set towards the "1" position. Each time he got the thing moving and started to press the foot lever down to go faster, though, it would begin to make a whirling noise and he'd ease off, worried that he was going to blow the blasted thing up with him in it.

A light tap at his window drew his attention. In a heartbeat, his hand was inside his jacket pocket, wrapped around his wand. No telling what these Muggles might do, especially at this time of night and in this part of town.

A rather harmless-looking, petite blonde with honey-brown eyes smiled in at him. "Need help?" her muffled voice came through the glass.

Busted!

Now what? If he didn't play this cool, it would be obvious he'd stolen the Muggle vehicle, and she'd run and find one of those Muggle authorities to sic on him. The last thing he needed or wanted was that kind of attention – because inevitably, the Hit Wizards would show up to take charge of him. He'd just have to fake this one and lie through his teeth. Lucky for him, he was rather good at such things.

He gave her his best, most harmless smile and unlocked the door, climbing out, hand still on his wand. "Yeah, I can't operate this… thing." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the automobile. "My friend, he asked me to bring it to him, but I don't know how to drive this type."

Curious, the girl looked around him into the car and a look of understanding overtook her pretty features. "Ah, never learned on a manual, did you? You're in luck. I just happen to have my full license. Tell you what: I'll do you a favour. I'll drive, if you'll tell me where we're going."

"My destination's off Leadenhall Street," he stated, knowing that was the closest major street name to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

She hesitated, staring up at him through shrewd eyes and tsk'd. "Pretty far from here."

Draco tried to remain casual, not wanting to scare off his only offer of help, so he nonchalantly shrugged. "Not that far."

"Fifteen pounds," she negotiated.

He frowned, not knowing how much that was, exactly, but knew he it was Muggle Britain's money rate. "You can't charge me for a favour!"

She smirked at him. "I can do anything I want, handsome. I'm not the one who's lost."

Draco was about to argue, but realized how futile that would be. After all, if he took her up on her offer and _Obliviated_ her after, it wouldn't matter what they'd agreed he pay her once they got to their destination. She wouldn't remember this conversation anyway. "Alright, sure."

Holding her hand out, she looked up at him. "Deal. Keys?"

He looked back into the vehicle. "They're in there."

Moving around him, she opened the door to the driver's side. "Climb in," she indicated the other side of the automobile. Once he did as she asked, she pulled the queer strap from the side over her shoulder and clicked it into place across the other side, near her lap. "Buckle up," she instructed. "Safety first."

It took him a second or two to figure it out, and then he was strapped in, and the woman had the vehicle started and moving. She zoomed out into the traffic without fear, whooping in laughter as she made a car swerve to avoid her. She did some shifting of the funny handle between them on the floor and depressed pedals. The vehicle made woofing noises, but didn't break down, or blow up, much to Draco's relief.

"Woo! I've wanted to drive a Z4 since they launched earlier this year!" she cried out.

He had no idea what she was saying. All Draco could do was hold onto the strap around him with a white-knuckled grip and pray to the Four Founders that she zoomed around other vehicles with a margin of skill to match her enthusiasm. This thing called 'driving' made him incredibly nervous, as these 'cars' had no ability to dodge up and down like a broom, only left and right. The chances of a crash at high speed were probable given the statistical halving of the ability to evade.

"I thought you said, 'safety first,'" he reminded her as she sharply veered off to avoid getting side-swiped by a large vehicle he vaguely remembered being called a 'truck.'

"Trust me," she beamed at him, shifting that stick again and accelerating.

It was the longest twenty minutes of Draco's life. Not even a Quidditch match had ever wrung his nerves as much. As they pulled up to the area near The Leaky Cauldron's entrance, he told her to stop. She found an open space at the curb and parked the vehicle. With shaky hands, he pushed the button to release the strap, threw it off, and jumped out of the automobile.

"You are mad!" he accused, as she met him on the sidewalk, keys held out for him. "You nearly killed us!"

"But I didn't," she calmly pointed out. "I got you to your destination safe, if not sound." He made to reach for the keys, but she pulled them back at the last second and brought them to her chest. "Nuh-uh. You owe me fifteen pounds."

Draco hated to admit it, but he was starting to like this bird. She had a reckless audacity that flew in the face of his Slytherin training. If she'd been a witch, she'd probably have been sorted a bloody Gryffindor. The thought got him a little hard. He had a private kink for the girls from that House when he'd been a teenager, as they'd had fire and passion that Slytherin girls, with their icy demeanours and their tendency to fake a good time, clearly lacked. That was knowledge he'd never shared with any of his friends or his parents, though. None of them would understand.

It was too bad he'd have to _Obliviate_ her.

"Right," he agreed, reaching for his wand.

"I knew you were desperate to get laid, Draco, but paying for it now?"

Theodore Nott loved to razz him about anything doing with a girl. He claimed the allowance was in the Best Friend Contract, but secretly, Draco thought the man was a little too interested in his love life for comfort's sake.

He turned to face his two friends as they stepped out of the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron and approached. Blaise's attention was riveted on the blonde, but Nott's calculating smirk was all for Draco.

"Hardly," he sniffed. "The lady helped me win our bet." He pointed in triumph to the vehicle parked on the side. "I win. Pay up."

Theo took in the situation in a glance and shook his head. "We never said you could hire help."

Draco shrugged. "You never said I _couldn't _either."

Their conversation was cut short by the blonde walking past them and staring at the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron. "Huh, that's funny. It's like it doesn't want you to look at it."

The three men stopped and stared at her, their debate instantly forgotten.

"What did you say?" Zabini quizzed, looking about quickly to make sure there were no other Muggles around to hear. At this time of night, on a Sunday, the street was sparsely populated.

The woman pointed at the door to the wizarding pub. "I can feel it. There's an… energy… right here. It's trying to get me to look away, to hurry past. But there's this other side, it's pulling at me to open the door. Don't you feel it, too?"

"Shite," Theo so eloquently stated. They all knew what this meant – the girl had magical talent.

Draco approached her very cautiously, hand on his wand. "_Can_ you touch it?"

This was the big test. If she could actually overcome the charm to repel Muggles, she was no Squib, but a full-blown Witch.

She shrugged. "Sure." With no effort whatsoever, she reached forward and gripped the handle, turning it and opening the door. The small bell above the door rang out and she blinked, looking in. Then, to further the shock, she stepped up and moved inside.

"Bloody hell, she's one of us," Nott exclaimed.

"Forget the Obliviation Charm now," Zabini stated, pointing at where Draco's hand had been hovering over his wand, his intent obvious to his friend. "The Ministry would know. Misuse of Memory Magic carries serious consequences."

"I know," Draco snapped, and with a sigh, went after the woman to make sure she didn't do anything stupid. The last thing he needed was attention drawn to him after he'd been caught and slapped on the wrist by the Hit Wizards a fortnight ago trying to purchase some magical 'shrooms.

The young woman was standing just inside the open door, gaping as she looked around at pints of bitter floating through the air to tables across the room, and magically moving pictures in frames above the bar showing off the English National Quidditch Team at play. She blinked twice when she saw someone step through the Floo with a flash of green light, as if it were the most natural thing in the world - which it was, to someone like Draco.

"It's real," she whispered in awe, trembling against him as he took her arm to make sure she didn't act rashly. "I… oh, God, I knew it! I thought I was going insane, but it was real all along."

"Shut up," he growled, embarrassed by her first year gawping. "Just… let's sit down. We have things to discuss." He dragged her over to a booth in the corner, and Theo and Blaise joined them a moment later. He pulled his wand from his inner pocket and waved it for privacy, while Blaise went to order them drinks. "Now, listen because I'm only telling you this once: yes, magic is real. No, Muggles don't know-"

"Muggles?" she asked, interrupting, her eyes lighting with excitement.

"Non-magical people," Theo explained. "It's what wizards and witches call them."

Blaise sauntered up and slid in beside Theo, and a waitress with a tray loaded with drinks came over, putting them down on their table. He'd ordered beers in frosted mugs all around, and a shot of Firewhisky for each of them, just in case. Zabini was good with the forethought.

"Our worlds are separate – for a reason," Draco continued the story. "Muggles have tried to kill us for centuries. They're superstitious and aggressive when faced with the uncomfortable reality that they aren't the top of the food chain. We don't mix well with their kind as a result."

The girl stared at him, a frown on her face. "I'm quite sure my parents weren't magically-inclined. They never understood any of the things I could do when I was a child. In fact, I frightened them quite often without meaning to. They once almost had me committed when I accidentally made our dog dance on its hind legs to a solo tango."

That threw Draco for a loop. Was this girl a Mudblood then? That would suck, since he'd been entertaining the idea a few minutes ago of taking her upstairs for a good shag. Something about her both infuriated him and interested him. He was uncomfortably erect in his trousers right now, and he was just sitting next to her, smelling her lovely floral perfume.

"When you were eleven years old, did a stranger appear at your door to talk to you, but was turned away?" Zabini discreetly asked. "Or did you perhaps receive a strange letter by… avian delivery?"

The girl frowned. "I wasn't born or raised here, but in Australia. My parents died the summer before my eleventh birthday. I was moved around a bit from foster home to foster home for the next few years. By the time my grandmother knew where to find me and could afford to fly me here to England, I was fifteen."

Draco traded a look with his friends.

"Maybe they thought she was too old by then?" Theo offered.

"It's more likely she got lost in the shuffle," Blaise postulated. "Moving continents, with two Ministry departments coordinating? It's a good bet her file was put on some bureaucrat's desk and forgotten."

The witch next to him suddenly became very livid. "You mean to tell me that I suffered for years with this… this… _affliction_, struggling to keep it under control, and all this time someone could have helped me? That I was lost in the red tape?" She slammed a hand down on the table. "Typical civil service incompetence! What do we pay those people our taxes for anyway? I need a serious drink before I blow a gasket."

She raised her hand and Draco's Firewhisky shot glass flew into it.

Whoa. He hadn't even felt the tingle of her magic to announce she was gathering a spell! From the looks on his friends' faces, they hadn't either.

Draco was now seriously intrigued. This stray witch was an enigma. Obviously, she was quite powerful, as she'd easily resisted the charm to keep her out of wizarding London's shops and accurately flung around the non-verbal _Accio_ without a wand and without ever having been properly trained to cast such a spell. That it had taken her almost no magical energy to accomplish was a major feat unto itself. She talked funny, too – proper British inflection, despite having lived in Australia, but she used commoner slang. Apparently, she'd come from a high-class background, but was currently being influenced by a more base element.

Shite, he hadn't been this interested in a witch in… ever.

"What's your name?" he asked, realizing after the fact that his tone had sounded a bit besotted. He frowned to cover up the error and quickly threw a look at his friends. Too late, they'd heard it and were now giving him the, "oh, really?" look. He scowled at them.

The girl paused, measuring him carefully behind a topaz gaze. "What do you want it to be?" At the confused look that everyone passed, she smiled and made a sound of amusement. "I'm joking. It's… Vivienne," she stated, and he knew in an instant that she'd just told him a lie. Slytherins were trained to spot them. Her nostrils flaring and her pupils expanding gave her away.

"Well, Vivienne," Blaise cut in, obviously having caught the fib, too, but playing along for the moment, "where do you live?"

"Ah, no. I think I've done enough sharing for the night," she rather warily stated.

Zabini held his hand out to her. "Maybe if we introduced ourselves properly? Blaise Zabini, at your service." He gave a slight inclination of his head in a courtly bow.

"You smoothie," Theo teased, taking Vivienne's hand from Blaise's in an effortless and charming switch-off. "You'd never know he was the last _Marchese_ of the House of Zabini, would you? Theodore Nott, of the Derbyshire Notts."

She turned to Draco last. He didn't offer to shake hands, but he did follow Zabini's lead with the half-bow. "Draco Malfoy."

"So modest, my Lord," Theo mocked him and Draco felt his ears go red, knowing what was coming next. The wanker leaned forward as if he planned to impart a secret to Vivienne. "He's the Heir Apparent to the Duchy of Swindon, and the current Earl of Wiltshire."

"But Swindon and Wiltshire don't have a-" she witch made to argue, but Theo cut her off.

"They did at one time, but once the International Statute of Secrecy kicked in in the late sixteen-hundreds, those wizarding families that had not already withdrawn from the Muggle world did so. They took their empty titles with them," he regaled her with an alternate history to the one she would have been taught as a Muggle. "They use them now to dictate marriages amongst the elite wizarding families – it helps them keep track of magical blood purity."

"The House of Zabini was said to have gone extinct in the tenth century, according to Muggle history," Blaise informed her. He spread his hands wide. "Obviously, that is not the case. We left it voluntarily at that time."

"And what of you?" Theo politely inquired, but it was clear he was interested to know if 'Vivienne' would hail from pureblood stock or not.

The witch cleverly didn't seem inclined to throw any of them a bone, despite the candid introductions she'd just received. She didn't seem a bit impressed with their titles, either. "I'm just… Vivienne," she cagily replied with a soft smile, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "I live in a small flat with a roommate, with whom I also work part-time, and I go to university as a full-time student for Marketing." She shrugged. "Nothing special."

"Well, 'Just Vivienne,'" Theo leaned forward with elbows on the table, trying to lure her into a comfort zone - as if they were all old friends, sitting about a pub late at night, sharing a drink. "Ask us anything. We'll answer what we can for you."

Her expression took on angelic proportions, but it was clear by the glint in her amber orbs that she was closer to she-devil in that moment. "Any question, you say? Alright, what's the fastest land animal?"

"The cheetah," all three of the friends replied at the same time.

Vivienne erupted into laughter, and it was a pretty sound. Coupled with the honest smile on her face, Draco was instantly smitten. She wasn't a classic beauty, like Astoria – whom his parents were considering as a match for him – but she had that girl-next-door prettiness, with a light dusting of freckles across her pert nose. Her lips were not pillowed or full, but they were definitely kissable. He was wondering what they tasted like, when her next question jolted him back to the here and now.

"So, who wants to tell me where I go to sign up to join your super-secret Magic Users' Club, and where I can get one of these," she inquired, her magic pulling the wand from Draco's inner pocket with ease and slapping it into her hand.

When he looked at her with clear surprise, having been taken aback by the fact that she'd seen it at all, much less knew what it was, her response to holding a wand for the first time was all the answer he needed.

"I felt it," she breathed in awe, turning his Hawthorn rod around and closely examining it. "It… called to me."

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**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review! **I'd love to hear your thoughts on this first chapter of four. The story is completed, but I'm putting them up a chapter at a time - one per week.

**Chapter One title taken from the song: **"Black Magic Woman" by Santana

**Lines borrowed & rewritten for chapter one from the "Pretty Woman" movie:**

_Edward: "You can't charge me for directions!"_

_Vivienne: "I can do anything I want to, baby. I ain't lost."_


	2. Chapter 2: Stairway to Heaven

**CHAPTER TWO: STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN**

The three friends spent four hours answering every question Vivienne had. Her curiosity was insatiable. By then, the pub was closing, however, and their discussion was cut short by Tom the barkeep's announcement of last call.

Theo yawned behind his hand. "Well, 'Just Vivienne,' fun though this has been, someone has work tomorrow and needs to get his beauty sleep."

Zabini nudged their friend's shoulder. "Snape's a task master, huh?"

Nott nodded. "The old man's the best Potioneer this side of the world, though. I was lucky to get this apprenticeship. I'm not blowing it with only a year left before I get my credential." He stood up, came around the table and took the neophyte witch's hand. "Vivienne, it's been lovely. I hope we'll see you again." He gave her a sly wink and kissed her knuckles. "Floo call me if you need anything once you get settled into this new world, yes?"

Vivienne made some vague promise to an agreement, and Theo sauntered off to the Apparition point.

Across the table, Draco traded a look with Blaise. Clearly, the other guy was interested, but Draco had staked his claim first, and the narrowed gaze he gave to his best friend was enough for the guy to get the hint. "Right," Zabini stated, putting his hands on the table and tapping it twice. "Time for me to get going as well. I have a full schedule tomorrow. Quidditch training calls." He stood up, and repeated Theo's goodbye gesture. "It was an honour to meet you, Vivienne. As Theo stated, if you have need, we're only a Floo call away. Good night." He reached out and shook Draco's hand. "Draco. See you on the pitch this weekend. We're going to thoroughly trounce your Magpies, but I suppose it would be bad sportsmanship to not wish you luck anyway."

Draco grinned up at him. "Still a beautiful dreamer, Zabini. It's refreshing how things don't change, despite the years. See you Saturday."

When Zabini was out of earshot, Vivienne turned to him. "You didn't mention being one of those Quiddutch players." She pointed to the sports paraphernalia above the bar.

"Quidditch," he gently corrected her. "And I'm a Seeker for the Montrose Magpies, a local British team, not National."

"Seeker," she rolled the word around, as if trying to remember the reference. Frankly, Draco thought they might have overloaded her brain with information. No way could he have kept so much straight if he'd been drinking and… "That's the centre position, the one that catches the Snitch, the fastest ball on the field. It's small, gold in colour, and has wings. If you catch the Snitch, your team is guaranteed the win," she regurgitated the facts they'd heaped on her, and almost word-for-word. "So that means you're streamlined for speed, not built like a bruiser, as a Beater would be." She looked him up and down, tilting her head this way and that. "I can see it. Although…" She reached out and voluntarily touched him, squeezing two hands around his left bicep. "There's some serious muscle there, too. You work out, like Mister Zabini." It wasn't a question.

Draco nodded, impressed again by her ability to retain so much knowledge, and for being so perceptive. "He, Theo and I have a regime of training together a few times a week. Helps us all keep in shape and competitive."

"With each other," she discerned, smiling with sudden understanding. "You don't play just to win – but to keep each other busy. You're all from old money, or so I gathered from the titles, so you're not doing it for the pay, I'm guessing. You're doing it for fun; just three very old friends, playing at who can build the better sandcastle."

Astute deductive reasoning capabilities in this one, too. Man, she was the whole package, wasn't she? She _got_ him. "You see right through me, Vivienne. It's… refreshing."

She tweaked a dark eyebrow at him. "How so?"

He twirled his empty shot glass around. He hadn't even had the opportunity to drink it as Vivienne had downed the contents. Funny how he didn't mind. "Most women within my social circle are rather self-involved. They're cold as fish and rarely see what's happening in the world outside of their gossip mongering, and their tea, salon and shopping dates."

She took a sip from her lukewarm beer, which still had a half to go. "Group therapy sessions for the rich and famous," she mocked, smirking. "I remember."

That caught his attention. "Remember? Were your parents of the _haute ton_, then?"

Her smile slipped, and she stared into her glass as if it held all the answers in the universe. "No. My parents were – what did you call them? – Muggles. My dad was a dentist and my mum ran his accounting office. My mother was always concerned with social niceties and had a circle very much like the one you describe, though. As a small child, I tried to be the perfect little lady for her. I always dressed in the clothes she insisted, and behaved with excellent manners to gain her approval. She never liked me, though, no matter how hard I tried. See, I took after my father, mostly. He and I loved books and learning. Mum was only interested in knowledge if she could use it for personal gain. I think she resented that my father had fallen out of love with her at some point in their marriage. That was obvious to me, even at that age, because they never touched or kissed, and were rather cold towards each other in general. My father gave me all of his affection instead. I think my mother hated me for it. She died in a car crash with my dad before she and I could ever settle the matter, though."

"I'm sorry," Draco offered, and surprisingly, he meant it. He understood what it was like to strive to win a parent's love and approval, only for it to turn out bitter in the end. "Is that why you drove the automobile so recklessly tonight?"

Her brows lowered as she mulled over his words. "You know, I never thought of it like that before but, yes, I think you're right."

"You should quit that," he advised. "I'd rather not attend your funeral, if you don't mind."

Her glass turned around and around between her fingers. "We hardly know each other well enough to discuss funeral arrangements."

He snorted. "You know me better than most, and in only a few hours' time. I have absolutely no idea how you accomplished that feat either, you know. It's not the alcohol, as I've hardly touched the stuff tonight. I suppose it has something to do with you. You seem to have a magic all your own for getting me to talk."

They were silent for several minutes, reflecting over all they knew about each other, and in that time, Draco found that he'd developed not just fondness, but affection towards the witty, beautiful woman sitting next to him. It came as something of a surprise to note that he actually liked her, and that he desperately wanted to touch the skin on her bottom lip to see if it was, in fact, as soft as it looked.

"Do you want to go upstairs with me?"

His pulse leapt and his temperature rose a degree at her implication.

"On the way to the ladies' earlier, I saw that this wasn't just a pub, but that it contained lodgings as well," she explained, stopping to wet her mouth with another sip of her beer. "Do you… want to?"

No stranger to hooking up with a woman for a fun one-off, Draco reached out and caressed her hand. "Are you sure?"

Her throat convulsed on a heavy swallow. "Will you pay for it?"

He stilled. Was she saying…?

"I mean, the room," she stammered, correcting her words, her face going bright red. "I don't have any wizarding money. Only, um, British pounds, which you said couldn't be taken here."

Oh. He let out the breath he'd been holding. For a minute, he'd thought she was 'kerb crawling,' minus the curb. "That's fine. I'll go make the arrangements," he offered, slipping around the other side of the booth and heading over to the bar to speak with Tom.

Once he'd secured a room and had been given the magical key, he headed back to the table. Vivienne had downed the rest of the contents of the glass, and her face was still quite red. Draco held his hand out to her. "Set?"

She still wouldn't look him in the eye, as she took his hand and made her feet. He led her through the room and up the wooden stairs to the sleeping chambers. When they arrived at the room, she finally glanced up and noted the number as he inserted the key in the door. "Eleven. My favourite number," she admitted.

"Is it?" he asked, sincerely fascinated enough to want to know why.

He realized then that it wasn't just affection he was feeling - he'd become seriously infatuated with this woman in the span of only a few hours. He'd never cared a whit before about anyone's favourite number. In fact, the idea of thinking of numbers in such a personal manner seemed bizarre. After his Arithmancy classes back in school, he'd wanted to forget anything having to do with counting - except in terms of keeping track of his galleons. But then, this girl _was_ rather odd, and it seemed almost… natural… that she'd have a favourite number. He was betting she had a favourite colour too. Probably periwinkle or some shade equally as peculiar.

Before he could ask her any questions, though, she was on him. She jumped him, literally, knocking him back against the jamb as the door swung open. Her lips were hot and anxious against his, and it was clear that she was very nervous and not very skilled. Her fingers grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him in tight.

"Whoa, slow down, love," he pulled away. "Easy."

Vivienne backed up and leaned against the opposite side of the jamb. "Sorry," she apologized, biting her lip. "I'm not… I've never…"

He stared at her with incredulity. "You've never had sex?"

"No. I mean yes!" she stammered the correction, shaking her head. "But, never like this… with a stranger."

The relief was palpable. Thank Merlin he wouldn't need to break her in. That kind of pressure would have made it awkward. "We're not strangers," he debated. "I told you: you know a lot about me already. More than any other woman I've been with, actually." That thought was kind-of disturbing, but at the same time, sort-of relieving.

"I don't know if you're married," she countered.

"I'm not," he reassured her.

"Engaged or seeing someone?" she challenged.

He smiled and shook his head. "No. And before you ask, I like the colour green, was born on the fifth of June, no, I don't colour-charm my hair, and I've decided right here and now that my favourite number is eleven, too."

Vivienne opened her mouth, shut it, and grinned. She shook her head around a chuckle. "You like eleven, too? And why is that?"

He reached across the short distance between them and caressed her face. "Because _you_ like it, and I like you."

"What do you want out of life?" she blurted, seeming still afraid to trust this strange, magnetic connection between them that he was sure she was feeling every bit as much as he was.

Draco considered his answer as he followed the curves of her jaw, her lips, and her nose. The shadows from the dimly-lit corridor hid half her features from him. It made him realize that he didn't really know this witch as much as he wanted to. She was a mystery to him that he wanted to unravel.

"A woman who will love me for me," he answered honestly, dropping every guard for the first time in his life. "Not for my name, or my titles, or my bank account. I want what my father has, although he's too stupid to see it." He paused, and then confessed to something that no one else but his mind-healer knew. "I was very angry with him, you know. It cost me ten thousand galleons in therapy to say that sentence; 'I was very angry with him.' He's never appreciated what my mother goes through for him. He's got this… magnificent gift… just sitting there at home, waiting on him. Mother's beautiful and refined, she makes sure his clothing is always immaculate and stylish, and that his meals are on time. She takes care of his social obligations so that we'll remain within the circle of the elite and powerful, and she always reflects perfectly on him outside the home in dress and manners. She greets him at the Floo or door every night and when he returns from trips. She gave him me, his heir. He has all that, and still he brings home younger witches when she's out about town and shags them on the same table we eat dinner off of. I caught him once – when I was eighteen, hence the therapy." He sighed. "When I was younger, I wanted to be just like him. Now… I don't."

Vivienne stared at him with those gold-flecked eyes, seeming to see straight into his soul. "Then don't," she evenly stated. "Be you, in here." She pressed a hand over his heart. "Live the life you want, believe what makes you truly happy, and love what gives you joy and peace. At the end of your life, that's all that counts."

Her words touched him as none other ever had. It was the perfect advice, given at the perfect moment in his life. He wouldn't realize it until much later, but that second was a turning point for him.

Vivienne's palm was warm, but steady through his shirt. He liked how it felt. "What's your real name?"

The witch met his gaze, much more relaxed now, as if his baring of his soul had eased the path between them for trust to grow. "Hermione," she admitted. "Hermione Jean Granger." She withdrew her hand and reached up to her hair. With a tug, her blonde locks fell to the floor, revealing dark hair braided back. She undid the braid and fluffed her hair out with her fingers, and he could see it was long and naturally curly, not just kinked by having been bound. "I like shades of blue and purple, I was born on the nineteenth of September, and I was wearing a wig. I like the number eleven because it's a union of two ones. To me, it represents two single people coming together to make something greater – which is how I've always envisioned love. And this is the real me, standing right here before you now."

Draco stepped into her and reached up to finger a strand, bringing it towards the candlelight of the hallway to get a better glimpse of it. It was a warm, medium brown, but there were glints of auburn hidden within the tresses. "I like it better," he asserted, and met her gaze again. "Hermione."

Bending, he captured her lips and this time, it was just right. There was no edge, no panic. It was smooth and flowed with ease between them. Her arms came around his neck and she leaned into him, and simply gave herself up to him.

He walked her backwards into the room and towards the bed. With a quickly cast series of spells, he shut and locked the door behind them and bespelled the room for privacy and noise.

"Magic's very handy," she murmured as his mouth nibbled down her throat. Gods, she smelled fantastic!

"Very," he admitted, biting down over her pulse and causing her to let out a whimpering gasp that had him instantly going hard. Her honest reactions were an aphrodisiac.

He made quick work of her clothes, dropping them piece by piece to the floor and following it down, kissing and suckling over every inch as he got on his knees before her to pull her lingerie from her legs, and pressed his face between her thighs to worship her pussy with his lips and tongue. "Perfect," he murmured as he feasted, loving her honey-salt flavour and musky scent. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her nails raked his scalp. She orgasmed long minutes later as he pressed two fingers into her silken, soaked entrance from below, just as he nipped her clit.

As her knees gave out, he caught her and pressed her down into the bed. Divesting himself of his own clothing quickly, he leaned over her, inching between her legs to lay his fully erect, aching length between her lower lips.

"Did I mention," she grinned at him around kisses, "that my leg is forty inches from hip to toe? So, basically, we're talking about" – she wrapped both legs around his waist as he slid down to her opening – "eighty inches of therapy… wrapped around you. All for free."

Her humour at a time like this was strangely appropriate. Draco chuckled against her throat as he pressed into her. "If I'd known you existed back when I'd decided to hire a mind-healer, you'd be a very rich woman right now. I guess we'll just have to do with making you come hard instead."

There was no more time for talking as he moved, ever so slowly, to open up her passage and fill her. She wasn't a virgin, as he felt no hymen, but she couldn't have had sex very often, because she was so _bloody_ tight. It was heavenly pushing through her sleek, humid depths, hearing her little cries of pleasure and feeling her tiny panting breaths blast across the skin of his shoulder as he slid in.

"Oh… _oh, Draco_," she whispered, and his heart trembled at the awe in her tone as he came to her end, fully buried in her moist warmth at last.

Stilled within her, he raised his head to look down upon her face. He very softly stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. She leaned into the touch and smiled up at him.

He didn't know this woman. They'd just met only a few hours before. She was most likely a Mud… _Muggle-born_, given the clues he'd picked up from their earlier discussion. And yet, in that moment, Draco thought it very likely that he was falling in love with her. "What do you want?" he asked, letting her direct their pleasure and speed as he circled his hips to further stimulate her arousal.

Her smile widened. "I want the fairy tale."

With that, she shoved her hips upwards with eagerness towards his, and he took his cue, giving it to her just as she wanted – with strong, full thrusts and rolling hips, their bodies intimately close, his mouth kissing hers with lust and need and his burgeoning feelings. He used great discipline to hold back the tide of his orgasm, wanting her to find hers first, relentlessly surging into her body at the rhythm she begged for. When she came, he felt her shaking, pulsing body, tasted her cries of pleasure, and breathed in the scent of her heady sexual release. A moment after her womb's final tremor, he thrust twice more and followed her over, his climax a powerful explosion of feeling and emotion.

Exhausted, replete, he fell asleep almost immediately in her arms once the rush of adrenaline had slowed and his satiation was complete. The sound of her strong, pounding heart and the feel of her fingertips smoothing over his face lulled him to his rest as she pulled the covers over them both.

**... … …**

Sometime in the middle of the night, Hermione began to slip out from under him, and Draco woke up. "Don't go," he pleaded with her, his mind still fogged from a drugging sleep the likes of which he hadn't known in years.

"I have to work tomorrow," she whispered.

"Skip it."

"I can't," she insisted.

He sighed. "How much do you make a day?"

"What?"

"Your daily wage – how much?" he demanded, flipping onto his back. "I'll match it. Problem solved."

There was a substantial pause that lasted long enough for him to almost slip back into sleep. When she spoke again, however, it woke him back up.

"Three thousand," she stated.

If he'd been more awake, he'd have heard the warning anger in her voice, but as it was, Draco just wanted to get back to sleep, cuddled around her. He'd agree to whatever she wanted, so long as he could keep her next to him for a while longer. "Done."

She was quiet again, and when he pulled her down into his arms, she settled a little stiffly about him. "I would have stayed for two thousand."

He was too tired to believe it was anything more than her teasing him again. "I would have paid four," he snarked back and pressed his nose into her curls, sighing with happiness. This, he could get used to.

Sleep came easily after that.

In the morning, though, to Draco's great consternation, Hermione was gone. There was no note, and no evidence of her having been with him, aside from the rumpled sheets and her scent on the pillow.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

* * *

**Song title for this chapter:**

"Stairway To Heaven" by Led Zeppelin

.

**Lines borrowed & rewritten for this chapter from "Pretty Woman" the movie:**

**Original:**

_Edward: _"_I was very angry with him, you know. It cost me ten thousand dollars in therapy to say that sentence; 'I was very angry with him.'"_

**Original:**

_Vivienne: "Did I mention… my leg is 44 inches from hip to toe, so basically, we're talkin' about… 88 inches of therapy… wrapped around you..."_

**Original:**

_Vivienne: "I want the fairy tale."_

**Original:**

_(after Vivienne counters Edward's offer of $2000 for $3000, he agrees easily)_

_Edward: "Done."_

_Vivienne: "I would have stayed for two thousand."_

_Edward: "I would have paid four."_


	3. Chapter 3: More Than A Feeling

**CHAPTER THREE: MORE THAN A FEELING**

The _Point Me_ spell was a desperate measure, but by noon that day, Draco was a desperate man. Thank Slytherin it was an unerringly accurate charm – especially when used on witches and wizards. Magic called to magic, as Hermione had so consistently demonstrated last night.

He found her at a Muggle strip club very near where they'd first met. She was waitressing, wearing a skimpy outfit that bared her middle, showed off the curves of her arse, and gave a fantastic cleavage shot. His ire shot through the roof. "This is your job?" he growled, gripping her arm and turning her as she placed a drink down in front of a mid-day customer, startling her with his presence.

"Draco, what are you-" was all she could get out before a large bouncer approached and gripped his shoulder.

"Hands off," the man warned. "Now."

Hermione smiled up at the hulking man who could have given Goyle a run for his money. "It's okay, Karl, he's with me."

The big man shook his head. "You know the rules. No touching. Doesn't matter if he's your dad."

She nervously glanced at Draco. "He's right. Let me go. We'll talk in the back."

The pleading look in her eyes was the only reason he didn't hex the man's shorts with a _Reducto_. He let her go and the bouncer released him. She led Draco through the smoky, dimly-lit lounge and into an area in the back marked, 'Employees Only Beyond This Point.' They moved down a hallway painted in shades of aqua and brown, and into a side room.

Upon inspection, he noted that they were in a shared dressing room. There were three vanity set-ups in the room – make-up tables filled with bottles of cosmetics and fake wigs on mannequin heads, large mirrors, and bright lights above each station. Against the back wall was a rack of sequined and shiny costumes of all types. Hermione took a seat in front of one of the stations and kicked an empty chair his way. It rolled across the old wooden flooring and he stopped it with his hand. He didn't sit in it.

"Yes, this is my job," she began, leaning her elbows back on the vanity. "Here, I'm called 'Vivienne.' I'm paid to take my clothes off and dance around naked on a stage with a pole. In between shows, I waitress. This is how I can afford to go to school so in another year, like your friend Theo, I'll be credentialed and won't have to do this anymore. Not all of us come from money, Draco. Not all of us were lucky enough to have parents who could afford to send us anywhere our hearts desired."

"You Mudblood whore!" he sneered, his heart slamming under his ribs in anger.

He felt used. He felt dirty for having given her…

She quickly bounded to her feet, crossed to him and slapped him across the face - hard. "I have no idea what a 'Mudblood' is, but as to that last - if I were a whore, I'd have stayed this morning to make sure you paid me for the car ride _and_ for skipping work today to be with you, per your" – here her voice took on a mocking tone – "oh-so-generous offer. You slimy hypocrite! How dare you stand there dressed in such fine clothes and judge me! You're mummy's little rich boy, living in a castle with a trust fund the size of England's national debt!"

He gripped her hand and pulled her into him, his fury making him reckless. This was the girl that he'd… that he'd bared his soul to! The girl he'd hoped…

"I gave you-" he began, but immediately stopped and bit his tongue. He wouldn't say it, and give her that kind of power over him. "Fine. How much?" he decided upon a different route. "If it's money you want, then as you've so eloquently pointed out, I've got plenty. How much to make you exclusively mine? I will pay you to be at my beck and call."

Her eyes burned with indignation, but her tone was all biting sarcasm when she replied. "Yeah, I'd love to be your beck-and-call girl, I'm sure. Too bad I'm busy washing my hair for the next thousand years. I just don't think I'll have the time." She shoved him away and gave him a look of utter loathing. "I have _never _slept with a man for money, you sick bastard! I'm not a prostitute!"

"No, you're a stripper! That's even worse!" he shouted and stepped forward, crowding her back against a make-up counter. "You tease men. You show them your body and get them hard so they'll give you a good tip! Tell me: how many have touched your tits?" He reached out and groped one of her breasts. She batted him away, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her and did it again. He fondled it, easing the nipple into tautness. "How many have you shown this pussy to?" He ran his hands down between her thighs and cupped her mons. He leaned into her as she leaned back. His mouth hovered over her ear as he stroked back and forth, stimulating her. "How many have fucked it?"

Hermione was shaking and crying now. "So, I strip. Big deal! I don't give lap dances or let any man fondle me! You're the only one I've ever let touch me like this," she admitted. "Just _you._ And bloody hell, do I regret it now!"

He gently bit her earlobe as punishment for the lie. "Tsk-tsk, 'Vivienne.' Piling deceit on top of everything now, too? You told me last night that you'd had sex before. Or was that a line, too?"

He could feel her anger burn a scorching path across the skin that touched him as he pressed his cheek to hers. Her rouged mouth lifted to his ear. "I _have_ had sex, you son of a bitch - just not with someone else! I popped my own cherry with my fingers when I was seventeen," she grit. "They've worked just fine for me ever since. I've _never_ needed a man. I've never wanted one… until you." She paused, and he felt the warm moisture of her tears saturate his skin. "You heartless bastard. You've ruined me, Draco Malfoy - you and your magical world. Last night you gave me the fairy tale I've always dreamed of having. But now… now I don't want _any_ of it! Not if it comes with such a price tag. I'd rather work here doing what I do than become any man's slag."

Her quick, hitching breaths against his hairline wracked her petite frame. "You hurt me last night with your offer of payment - as if I were some table-ender you'd hired for a simple shag-off. I'd loved what we'd done. It was all could have ever wished for. But after that offer, it felt cheapened. It ruined the magic. And now this..." She shook her head. "You've never stood in my shoes, Draco. You have no idea how much I resisted this life until there was no choice left to me! When my grandmum died, I had nothing – nothing but the clothes on my back and what I could stuff into a small suitcase, literally. The bank took her house and threw me out. I lived in a shelter for a year, trying to earn enough money by waitressing to rent a room in a flat. My roommate, Kit, she worked here. She offered me a job. I was desperate enough to take it so I could use the money to go to school and make something better of my life." Her sobs choked her. Turning her face away, leaning her forehead on his shoulder, she drenched his shirt with her suffering. "Do you think I wanted to do this? And after what we shared, how could you say such things to me? How could you touch me like this?"

Draco's chest was heavy with pain, shame and remorse. He'd been her first and only lover. Intuitively, deep down inside, he'd known it last night when she'd fumbled to grant him inexpert kisses, and how impossibly tight she'd been when he'd joined them. He'd known it by the awkward thrusts of her hips, and the innocently uninhibited response she'd given to his love making. She was no whore - but he'd made her into one for the sake of appeasing his wounded pride. He'd been needlessly cruel to her, out of both ignorance and jealousy, and most likely screwed his chances of having a future with her. He only hoped she'd be good enough to forgive him.

"I'm sorry, love," he earnestly apologized, wrapping his arms about her and pulling up into his embrace. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, as if all of the air had been squeezed out of his lungs. He felt ashamed to the core of his being. "I didn't understand. You're right. Please… let me make it up to you."

There was an indeterminate length of time where neither said anything. He waited on her verdict, praying to the Founders for luck while she deliberated his fate.

"I'm very angry with you, Draco - more than eighty inches and ten thousand galleons worth. So, I don't just want to hear you say you're sorry," she finally insisted, holding tighter to him, pressing her body against his in a manner that left little for interpretation. "I want you to show me how much you mean it. Promise me you won't hurt me again like this. _Promise me._"

Sliding his mouth across her wet flesh, he found her lips and kissed them again with heat and a deep-seated need to claim her again. "I mean it, I promise_,_" he rumbled as he hastily pulled off her Muggle costume – some sort of tiny halter top that tied behind her neck. Unlacing the bow, he yanked the fabric down to bare her breasts to his touch, and then his mouth. She gasped, arching into his assault, her hands thrusting into his hair and holding on.

He tore at her tiny boy-shorts, pulling them off her bum and down her legs, while she worked the buckle and zip on his trousers. When enough flesh had been bared, he lined them up and kissed her just as he thrust up and in, fucking deep. They both cried out at the sensation of being rejoined.

He grabbed her legs, pulling them around him. "Say you forgive me for being a royal arse," he implored.

"Yes, _yes,_" she readily agreed as he held her hips and began pounding into her. The vanity shook, but was thankfully sturdily built.

He murmured incoherent needs as he ploughed into her, requiring her to fuck him back, to take her pleasure from him as she desired, and to enjoy his loving of her. She did just as he bade, and she wailed to the ceiling when she came on his cock. Her clamping, rolling orgasm milked his from the depths of his soul. He called her by her real name as he released his seed into her, and held her tight to him as an anchor to sanity.

As they both struggled to come down in the afters, a knock came at the door. "Vivienne, you're on in twenty," a girl called out.

Those words brought them back to their hateful reality.

Unsure as to where to go from here, Draco pulled out of her and gingerly let her go. When she made it clear she needed him to step back and give her space, he did, bending to retrieve his clothing and redressing, using the time to consider his options. Hermione gingerly slipped off the vanity to collect her costume's bottoms and to right her halter top. They were both of them shaking, he noticed from his peripheral vision.

"Quit this job, please," he finally requested.

She paused, and in a protective gesture, wrapped her arms around her middle. "And what, become your paid mistress?" She shook her head.

"I'm not offering that," he stated, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms over hers. He kissed her temple. "You asked me what I wanted out of life. Well, this is it: I want you." He kissed her lower on her jaw, then her throat. "I want to show you our world. I want to teach you magic. I want..." - he stalled to put his chaotic feelings into words - "I want to experience the number eleven with you, in the way you mentioned. I want to give you your fairy tale. I want to introduce you to my mother. I want to hear you tell my father to stuff it when he brings up the fact that you're a Muggle-born to protest our relationship." He kissed over her earlobe next. "I want to fuck you in my bed. I want to fuck you in _your_ bed. Eventually, I want your bed to _become _my bed. And I want Theo and Blaise to be jealous when they find out you're my witch."

She giggled at that last, wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks. "You don't want much, do you?"

He shook his head. "I'm a spoiled, single child from a wealthy pureblood family. I have grandiose wishes."

She sniffed. "And what about what _I _want?"

He rested his cheek against her hair and looked at them in the mirror before them. "Name it. It's yours."

Their eyes met, and that impish twinkle was back in her gaze. "For starters? I want the fifteen pounds you owe me for driving that night."

His jaw dropped. That was the last thing he'd thought she say after his genuinely honest declaration of intent. "But that was a favour! You said so – and you can't take it back!"

Her eyebrows rose and a small, challenging smirk rose up her cheek. "That was the agreement: I got you to your destination safe" – she shrugged – "if not sound." Her eyes narrowed in playful warning. "Are you trying to welsh on the deal, Mister Wizard?"

Damn, she had him.

Unless he cast that _Obliviate_…

"And if you think to make me forget with magic – _if _such a thing is even possible - I'll tell on you to your mother once I meet her," she threatened, a look of cunning stealing over her features.

Draco adopted his most innocent and righteously indignant face. "You dare impugn my honour, Madame?"

"You're trying to seduce me right now, to prevent me from going on stage in less than ten minutes to perform," she dryly stated, pointing to where his hand was currently back inside her shorts, fingering her clit even as they spoke. "I don't put anything past you now, you slippery snake."

Busted!

He gave her a boyish grin and sped up his fingers while simultaneously tugging down the shorts with his free hand, holding her attention in the mirror the whole time. "You're going to quit anyway, so it doesn't matter that I'm going to shag you again."

Hermione gave a sigh of resignation. "How am I going to live, Draco? I have half a flat, and other bills to pay. And I won't accept money from you for free. It feels wrong."

He tugged her costume down her legs and bent her over the vanity. "I'm hiring you, starting now, to be my personal Marketing consultant," he resolutely stated, undoing his belt and zip again and drawing his fully-erect and happy cock into his palm. He even unbuttoned his dress shirt with quick, nimble fingers, whipping his tie off and tossing it onto the chair. "I intend on burying Zabini's reputation in Quidditch, and to do that, I need someone clever enough to work out deals to market the Malfoy name on products. You're the perfect candidate, and not just because I like the way you shag. I think you've more than proven there's a mind in that head of yours." He pulled the bow on her halter again and it fluttered down her chest. "Pull the top down. I want to watch your breasts sway as I fuck you."

She did as asked. "I accept on the condition that it's equitable money to what I make here."

He lined his tip up with her entrance. "Two thousand galleons a week," he offered as he rubbed circles around her entrance.

"Three," she countered, wiggling her hips. "And I'm not moving in with you yet."

Nodding once, he slid into her creamy channel, gripping her hips tight. "Three it is. And I said _eventually_ my bed would be yours - when you're ready to stop being so stubborn about it. Oh… _shite_… Salazar's rod, you're tight!"

"I'm not quitting school either," she stated, gasping as he worked his way through her swollen, still-slick vagina. "Your marketing stuff happens around my class schedule."

"Fine with me. The better trained you are… _bloody hell, so good!_... the better our chances of burying Zabini."

"You've got yourself an employee," she stated, panting. "Now shag me good to seal the deal."

He did. The manager of the club knocked on the door the whole time, but they ignored him.

* * *

_**TO BE CONCLUDED...**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Song title for this chapter:**

More Than A Feeling by Boston

**Lines borrowed & rewritten for this chapter from "Pretty Woman" the movie:**

**Original: **

_Edward: "I will pay you to be at my beck and call."_

_Vivienne: "Look, I'd love to be your beck-and-call girl, but..."_


	4. Chapter 4: We Are Family

**CHAPTER FOUR: WE ARE FAMILY**

_**Epilogue – Five Years Later**_

"You're late," Hermione accused him, hands on her hips and foot tapping. She was dressed in a lovely damask silk formal gown, gold with black velvet flower and leafy swirl patterns up and down the dress. It had a lovely matching, hooded cloak. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and around her throat was a webbed, onyx beaded necklace of gothic style. She was the picture of perfection for a night out at the opera.

The sight made Draco harder than steel in a second. He loved the schoolmarm attitude that only his wife could pull off.

"You're stunning," he greeted her with heat in his eyes, reaching to grip her waist and pull her in close.

Her irritation altered in a blink to one of amusement, and she wrapped her arms about his neck allowing him to kiss her. "You're forgiven," she easily pardoned him after a thorough snogging.

He held his arm out to her and she took it, and they entered the flying coach that was to take them to the Royal Wizarding Opera House. "How many times have we gone to see this thing?" he teased her, knowing full well she'd know. Hermione never forgot a single important detail in her life, and each time they'd gone to see 'La Traviata," something momentous happened in their relationship. The first time had been four months into their dating. Even though she couldn't understand the words, Hermione had cried at the opera's beauty. That night, he openly told her he loved her for the very first time. The next time had been a year later, and she'd just graduated from university, and he'd asked her to finally move in with him. She had the very next day. The third time, another year had passed, and after the performance, he'd gotten down on one knee right there in their balcony box seat and asked her to marry him. She'd accepted, crying in joy. This time, Hermione had bought the tickets.

She cleared her throat, and fiddled with her necklace. "In case I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time tonight."

"Nice dodge, love," he snarked, reaching out to pat her hand resting on her thigh. "Try again?"

"Well," she hedged, "Um… remember when you told me that people's reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic? You said: 'they either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don't, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul.' Remember that?"

He nodded, wondering what she was getting at.

"It sort-of got me thinking," she admitted, fidgeting with the hem on her dress and smoothing it down. "I see your words as a spiritual truism regarding a lot of aspects in life: careers, relationships… impending fatherhood."

His brain stopped working.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her face carefully balanced between a wary panic and hope. "So, I was wondering where _you_ stood on that philosophy being applied equally to such things?"

He blinked.

Twice.

That was the extent of the reply he could intelligently make at that particular moment.

Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Draco? Have Blaise and Theo been feeding you magical 'shrooms again?"

A slow smile spread across his face as thought coalesced into action, finally.

"I've got those wankers now! Theo and Blaise owe me a hundred galleons a piece!" he gleefully announced.

His wife smacked him in the arm. "You _bet_ on me getting pregnant?"

Draco shook his head. "Technically, we each bet that our own wife was going to get pregnant before the others. That was… seventh year, I believe, back in the dorms."

It was Hermione's turn to blink in confusion. "But they aren't married yet – neither of them."

His grin was positively devious. "Exactly." He puffed his chest out, and rubbed a loving hand over her still-flat belly. "You see? A Malfoy _never_ loses a bet."

That night, they skipped the opera, and went to dinner at their favourite restaurant, instead. After, they went home and made passionate love (actually, it was hot wall sex that ended up with them falling to the floor because of the weight of her dress, but when you're orgasming, who cared about semantics?). As he lay back into the carpet in the afterglow, the beginning of a serious case of rug burn on his knees starting to fire his nerve endings, Draco could only grin as he contemplated what had brought him to this place…

He'd stolen a Muggle automobile, inadvertently discovered a witch, and gotten his eleven and his fairy tale all on the same night. He'd won _Witch Weekly's _Most Favourite Quidditch Player Award three years in a row after that with his lovely woman's marketing skills, made a pile of galleons from the advertising genius of his fiancée, gotten married soon after that, and was now going to be a father.

"_Live the life you want, believe what makes you truly happy, and love what gives you joy and peace. At the end of your life, that's all that counts."_

Hermione had been right.

His witch had been the smartest bet he'd ever taken.

Yes, he thought as he stretched, laying his head into the cradle of his hands, naked and sated in the middle of his bedroom floor, it was official: Draco Malfoy loved his life.

_**~FIN~**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S FINAL NOTES:**

**Song title for this chapter:**

We Are Family by Sister Sledge

**Lines borrowed & rewritten for this chapter from "Pretty Woman" the movie:**

**Original: **

_Vivienne: "You're late."_

_Edward: "You're stunning."_

_Vivienne: "You're forgiven."_

**Original: **

_Vivienne:_ _"In case I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time tonight."_

**Original: **

_Edward: "People's reactions to opera the first time they see it is very dramatic; they either love it or they hate it. If they love it, they will always love it. If they don't, they may learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of their soul."_

_(they go to see La Traviata, and Vivienne cries at its beauty, even though she has no idea what the actors are saying to each other)_


End file.
